


Pain and sandwiches

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: A drunken evening goes very badly wrong, and Crowley goes for the very worst exit strategy possible.  Aziraphale does his best to take care of his demon, by means of copious sandwiches.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129





	Pain and sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a crap week, so took it out on Crowley.
> 
> Contains a suicide attempt by a main character. *Please* don't read this if you're actively suicidal, we all know that's a terrible idea. Stay safe!

Aziraphale sighed and stared at his drink. Eventually he let the wine drain from his body and back into the glass. This time at least, he didn't think alcohol would help.

The evening had started off very successfully, really. They'd gone out for dinner, and Crowley had been fizzing with excitement. It was only a week since they'd averted the apocalypse, and both of them were still reeling from recent events. Aziraphale wished now he'd realised how fragile the demon still was.

It had seemed natural and good to hold Crowley's hand in the taxi back to the shop, and Aziraphale had felt like he was glowing. They'd stumbled inside together, separating only so the angel could fetch a couple of celebratory bottles. It felt like they'd be celebrating for months.

And then, two thirds of the way into the cabernet sauvignon, the evening had soured. Crowley had drunkenly leaned in and kissed Aziraphale. Who, idiot that he was, had pulled back and started to say “Wait, I don't want to be drunk for this....” except that Crowley was already gone, door jangling shut behind him.

Aziraphale was left blinking, unsure how much the demon had heard, or if it would have mattered. After a minute he pulled himself together enough to go check for him outside the shop, but all was quiet in the street.

So he sat on the sofa and fretted. Once he'd sobered up, he tried calling Crowley. No answer. And no answer again. He thought of going round to the flat straight away, but what if that made things worse?

An hour of self-recrimination later, a wave of panic jolted through him. Crowley was in danger, he knew it. Some hastily spent miracles and a very surprised taxi driver got him over to the flat in minutes.

Not stopping to knock, or consider that the door might be locked, Aziraphale headed straight in. And once in the flat, he rushed to the bathroom without hesitation. He could almost hear Crowley screaming in pain, although he knew the flat was completely silent.

Aziraphale felt like his heart had stopped when he opened the bathroom door. Crowley was sprawled in the bathtub, limbs slack. Had Crowley even owned a bathtub before now? Aziraphale's mind was coming up with irrelevancies, pointing out stupid details, trying to distract him from the sight of his beautiful demon wallowing in what was evidently a pool of his own diluted blood.

After an agonising few seconds, Aziraphale came out of his initial shock and rapidly crossed to the tub. Crowley was unconscious, and had clearly lost a lot of blood. Steeling himself, the angel plunged his hands into the dark red water (this felt wrong, so, so wrong) and touched Crowley's chest. He willed the blood to return into the demon's too-cold body.

The water slowly turned from red to pink. Before it could clear altogether, Aziraphale collapsed to the floor. He hadn't noticed how much this miracle was taking out of him. With an effort, he propped himself up against the bathtub, and considered the situation. He could probably just about manage to heal Crowley completely – but leaving himself in a state of exhaustion. And then when Crowley came round... he needed to leave some energy to take care of his demon, to keep this from happening again.

Aziraphale let out a single sob, before sternly telling himself to just get on with things. He took a deep breath, and stood again. Facing the bathtub, he examined Crowley more carefully this time. There were three or four deep gouges running down both of the demon's forearms, still sending darker blood spiralling into the pale pink water. And a litany of cuts, some deep, some shallow, and some mere grazes, down his thighs and chest. The angel paled at the sight of them.

He had no energy left to heal them, so... first get Crowley out of the tub, and then the wounds would clot by themselves. Aziraphale bent over and angled his arms underneath the demon's body, ignoring the pink liquid soaking into his shirt sleeves. With the last of his effort, he lifted Crowley and staggered with him to the bedroom.

Crowley had an obnoxiously large four poster bed. Aziraphale deposited his poor demon on one side, and crawled onto the other himself. He pawed at the demon's face. He could feel faint breath on his hand, but no response from his touch. So... waiting. Crowley would come back to him. He had to.

Aziraphale had many times been glad that he didn't sleep. He kept watch over the demon all night, clutching a cold hand in his, and monitoring himself too, for signs of his strength returning. At least Crowley's arms had stopped bleeding.

In the end, it was Crowley who woke before Aziraphale could heal him. He shivered, and gave a groan. Aziraphale placed a hand on his chest, to stop the demon from sitting up.

“Don't, my dear. You've lost too much blood. Lie back, and I'll take care of you.”

“Zira...?” Crowley sounded even weaker than he looked.

“Yes, love. I'm here. Please let me take care of you.”

Crowley was apparently too beaten to do anything else. He closed his eyes, and moaned quietly. Aziraphale gently stroked his cheek until the demon drifted off again.

Reassured just a little, Aziraphale began to plan. First, let Crowley get some rest. Heal his wounds as soon as he could. Then get them both back to the bookshop. Hide all sharp things (Aziraphale shuddered at this thought). Get some food down his demon's infernal throat. And then... talk, he supposed.

Letting Crowley rest was the easy part. But when he awoke, to find Aziraphale touching his mutilated arms to heal them, the demon jerked his arms away with a cry of pain.

“Don't.”

“Crowley, dearest, I have to.”

“You can't. I'm not done with them yet.”

At this, Aziraphale let out a tiny gasp. “Please – you can't – you can't leave me. _Please_ don't leave me.” It wasn't what he'd meant to say at all, he knew that laying guilt on top of someone's suffering was counterproductive, but... it was Crowley, and he couldn't bear the thought of parting with him, even if only for a few centuries before the demon was issued with a new body.

Crowley mumbled “What do you care...” and Aziraphale took the demon's face in his hands.

“I – I didn't want it to be like this, but... I love you, Crowley.” And he planted a soft kiss on the demon's lips.

“No.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“You don't love me. You pity me.” Crowley looked disgusted with himself.

“Oh Crowley, _please_... I do love you. I – I think I always have. If you could see yourself how I do... I love you so much. Please stay with me.”

He saw that the demon was crying. Wiping away the tears, Aziraphale began gently stroking his cheek again.

When Crowley next spoke, it was in a whisper. “You can heal them now. If – if you kiss me again first.”

Aziraphale found he could easily oblige. With a light kiss on the demon's lips, followed by another for luck, he then smoothed his hands over Crowley's ravaged body. The demon hissed a little, but let him do his work. Finally Aziraphale sat back.

“You've missed one.”

“Thank you, dearest.” Aziraphale quickly rectified the mistake. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking awful, how do you think I feel?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose you must do. Do you think you can move?”

Crowley nodded in response, and with the angel's help he sat up.

“I'd like to get you to the bookshop. Is that ok with you?”

Another nod.

“Thank you, my dear.”

Moving very slowly, and miracling on the softest clothes Aziraphale could find in the wardrobe for Crowley, they made it outside and to a taxi.

In the bookshop again, seemingly an eternity later, Aziraphale settled his demon into the back room. With a promise to be back soon, he headed to the kitchen, although not before making sure the front door would open for no-one but himself.

In the kitchen, he hurriedly shoved all the knives into a single drawer, and sealed it firmly shut. Then he set the coffee to drip, and raided the fridge. Crowley loathed pretty much all forms of food, but the angel made a few rounds of sandwiches anyway, and Crowley would just have to like them.

Bringing the plate of sandwiches and a mug of coffee back through, he was relieved to see Crowley still reclining where he'd left him.

“Here we are, eat up!”

“Huh? You know I don't like eating, angel.” He took the coffee gratefully though.

“No arguments. You eat.”

Sighing at the angel's evident determination, Crowley took a scalding sip of coffee, and put the mug down. Making faces, he began to munch the sandwiches.

It was when Crowley began complaining loudly about the flavour of the cheese, that Aziraphale finally took a calmer breath, and felt like just maybe, things would be alright.

Crowley managed a sandwich and a half before giving up and putting the plate down in favour of the coffee again. In a splutter of crumbs, he mumbled something.

“I'm sorry dear, I didn't quite catch that?”

“I _said,_ I love you too, you godawful angel. Just don't make me eat any more sandwiches, for fuck's sake.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale turned a delightful shade of pink. “Well, alright then.”

In order to fully look after Crowley, it only made sense for Aziraphale to ask him to move into the shop with him. And if Crowley claimed to still need looking after weeks, months and years later, well... they'd just have to keep living together indefinitely.

To Aziraphale's relief, Crowley opened up more about his mental health over time, and they agreed a few different safety plans. Progress might have been a little swifter, but a lot of time was taken up by some very insistent kissing.


End file.
